A Day In the Life Of
by Northwest Sage
Summary: A collection of short, mostly light-hearted writings... Chapter 15: Failure to Communicate!... with Prowl and Wreck-Gar...
1. Gears and Beachcomber

_I'd like to thank_ **_optimus prime 007_**, _who was cool with me using a title she had used for one of her stories. _

**A Day In the Life of: Gears**

Gears slammed his fist down hard against the computer console and stormed off without even bothering to switch it off. Those nearby could tell he was exceptionally annoyed, far more than usual. His rumbles and curses were kept hushed but it was obvious Gears was anything but content.

"Again!" he finally shouted loud enough and clearly enough for half the duty roster to hear. "Passed over for promotion-again!"

The annual report announcing all Autobots receiving an upgrade in rank had been released, and once again Gears' name was not to be found. It had become a sort of inside joke, a topic of conversation on all-night duty shifts and deep-space missions.

"I've had enough!" he yelled, sending all Autobots in the immediate vicinity scurrying to other destinations. Only the laid-back pacifist Beachcomber remained to listen to Gears frustrations.

"Having a bad day?" the blue Autobot asked innocently.

"A bad day?" Gears repeated with a heavy dose of sarcasm. "More like a bad lifetime!"

Never one to leave a friend in a foul mood, Beachcomber inquired as to what had happened to set the diminutive grump off.

"I'll tell you what happened. The same thing that happens every year going on twenty years!" Gears spotted an empty chair next to an observation porthole and claimed it. Beachcomber kept pace and stood at his side. "I got passed over for promotion."

"Really?" Beachcomber responded. "Again?"

An aggravated glance found its way to Beachcomber's head. "Yes. Again."

"Well, maybe there's a logical reason for it."

"Like what?" Gears demanded to know.

Beachcomber took a few moments to carefully choose words that wouldn't offend his fellow Autobot. His last intention was wanting to add fuel to the fire, so when he couldn't think of any thing positive to say, he remained silent.

"That's what I thought," Gears grumbled. "There's no good reason for me being overlooked year after year. The selection committee hates me."

Beachcomber let out a simple chuckle at such an obvious statement. "Well, can you blame them?" he said with a smile plastered on his faceplate. "You've managed to insult the entire committee at least once a week ever since we crashed on Earth."

"What are you talking about?"

Beachcomber was fast to respond. He decided that in this particular instance, the truth needed to be heard, no matter what ill-effects it may end up having on their friendship. "You told Grapple to quit wasting energy on his 'structures of whimsy' and you nearly brought Hoist to resign when you referred to his latest sculpture as 'Slag on a Pole'."

"Did you see _it_?" Gears asked undeterred.

"You called Prowl an insensitive glitcher."

"Is he _not_?"

Beachcomber lowered his voice a bit before continuing. "And lets not forget my personal favorite. The time you insinuated Ironhide's kept his position as Chief of Security for so long was because he's been...how did you put it?" There was a pause in the story, then a snapping of fingers after remembering the best part. "Greasing Prime's exhaust pipe!"

Gears remembered that day fondly and allowed a rare smile to emerge. "That was pretty good, wasn't it?"

"Let's face it, buddy, you're too vocal, too angry, and above all too opinionated." Beachcomber braced himself for a comeback, perhaps an outburst of physical violence caused by the bluntness of the words spoken.

"Maybe you're right," Gears said calmly, instantly shocking Beachcomber with his passive demeanor. "Maybe I should try to be a little nicer, maybe less judgemental of others."

Beachcomber was stunned. "Way to be, Gears, way to be!" He patted Gears on the shoulder and excused himself, choosing to retire to his personal quarters for a while before reporting for his science shift.

Gears sat in silence for a few moments, watching his friend leave the room and reflecting on what he said. Sincerely trying to allow it time to sink in and resonate within his being. And then he spoke.

"What an arrogant, scrap-sucking know-it-all!"

**The End.**


	2. Grimlock and Swoop

**A Day In the Life of: Grimlock and Swoop**

The lights were dim in the secluded gathering spot. The two allies, born of metal and might, sat opposite of each other with stern looks on their faces. Rarely had such tension been felt during a supposed cease-fire. Finally the eerie silence was broken by one of the participants. "Me, Swoop, say you making big mistake."

"Bah," growled Grimlock. "Just answer the question, and nobody get hurt!"

"Why you, Grimlock, no believe me, Swoop? Me trying to help."

Grimlock looked his longtime comrade and close friend up and down. He studied his posture, the dimness in his optics, and detected a slight hint of apprehension in his tone. They were running out of time to finish what they started. Soon it would be discovered they were missing and the Autobots would search for them. Privacy was rare inside The Ark, especially for a Dinobot. "Me getting tired of you dragging feet! Me not want to strike you, buy you making it pretty hard."

"You no trust me, Swoop?"

Grimlock grunted. "No. You smarter than me, Grimlock, so me think you're lying."

"Hurt Swoop feelings."

"Answer the question!" Grimlock demanded. "Do you have any?"

Swoop relented. "No."

"No?" Grimlock was stunned. "What you mean, 'no'?"

"The answer to your question is no."

"No? You sure?" Grimlock asked somewhat puzzled.

"Me, Swoop, positive."

"Really?"

"Really," Swoop smiled like a young earthen child who had just fooled his much older brother. It was obvious to Grimlock that his fellow Dinobot was enjoying the moment, leaving him waiting for the two-word phrase he hated to hear. "Go fish."

The End.

* * *

This one was really short, but I was afraid if it went too long, it wouldn't play well. Next chapter will be somewhat longer and feature Wheeljack and The Twins... Thanks to everyone for giving this one a look at!


	3. Wheeljack and The Twins

**A Day In the Life of: Wheeljack and The Twins**

Wheeljack stood in the middle of his laboratory in a state of disbelief. His optics had scanned every inch of the room a hundred times, and still could not locate his desired object. "Of all the stupid things," he mumbled to himself as he once again started to scan his surroundings. Perhaps there was a problem with his optics which his internal diagnostics-scan had been unable to detect. That could explain why he couldn't find his latest invention. He opted for a more hands-on approach and started rummaging through all sorts of containers and misshapen piles. "Where did I place the blasted thing?"

Hearing the commotion Wheeljack's treasure-hunting was creating, the Autobot twins Sunstreaker and Sideswipe walked inside to investigate the noise. "Whatcha doing, crazy?" Sideswipe asked.

"I'm quite busy and in no mood from company," Wheeljack snapped. He stood up from his current location and faced the unwelcome onlookers. "Especially company from the likes of you two!"

Sunstreaker couldn't help but let out a slight chuckle. "Come on, Wheeljack," he playfully stated. "Is that any way to talk to close friends?"

"Friends, eh?" Wheeljack grumbled.

"Yeah," Sideswipe answered. "Maybe we can help... what is it you're looking for?"

It had been at least two hours since he had started his search, and was no closer to finding it now than when he began. "Fine," he said, deciding to take the twins up on their offer. "It's called an electron-pulse re-stabilizer," he informed them proudly. He continued to elaborate on what it could do and how it came to be while diving into another corner of his lab. "I kept thinking to myself that there had to be an easier way to self-correct level-three damages suffered during combat."

"Wheeljack," Sunstreaker called out, but got no response.

"Before, the only option after suffering level-three damage was to leave the battle and let doc Ratchet clean up your insides." He went silent for a moment, thinking he may have found the device. Sadly, it was only a crumpled piece of flimsy material with oddly dented patterns reflecting light from within the room. "But with the EPR, an injured Autobot can simply attach it- magnetically, of course- to the back of their head panel and it'll initiate a repair sequence!"

"Sounds great," Sunstreaker admitted. "But what..."

Wheeljack quickly interrupted the yellow warrior. "What does Prime think?" he shot back, assuming to know the question Sunstreaker was about to ask. "Well, I don't know yet. I was going to take it to him for his opinion when I realized it was missing."

"Wheeljack!" both twins yelled simultaneously. The frantic engineer froze in his tracks and turned towards his helpers. "What does it look like?"

"Oh," Wheeljack responded quietly. He felt a little embarrassed for neglecting to describe the objects physical appearance. "Well, it's... sort of like... maybe a little more along the lines of..."

"Sweet, Primus, Wheeljack!" Sideswipe exclaimed. "Spit it out!"

"It's the size of my hand, box-shaped, and is primarily blue in color with a single green button of the top of it." He was proud of his short and concise description, and admired his quick reply. Wheeljack turned his back on the twins and set off after another pile to sift through.

Hushed laughter erupted from both twins, causing Wheeljack to mumble something about their immaturity and tried his best to ignore them from that point forward. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker decided it was time to go. Continuing their mischievous snickering, they wished the oft-confused Wheeljack luck and headed out of the room. "When do you figure we should tell him it's stuck to the back of his head?"

Sunstreaker smiled and shrugged his shoulders. "In a week?"

"Works for me," Sideswipe answered, feeling pretty confident that things would be rather entertaining for the next seven days.

**The End.**

**Next: Wheelie** **_(This isn't Your Father's Annoying Autobot!)_**


	4. Wheelie? Damn right!

**A Day In the Life of: Wheelie**

Wheelie wasn't very popular among his Autobot brethren, save for Dinobot leader Grimlock and the young human boy Daniel. He was small and despite being labeled a survivalist, nobody had ever seen a hint of his 'abilities to persevere'. His bright orange color made him unattractive to most others, earning him the nickname of Pumpkin Stick. Perhaps his most offensive trait was his annoying insistence of speaking in rhyme. Constantly. Never-ending. Daniel found it cute and Grimlock, the ferocious barbarian of a warrior, thought it was funny and it actually had a calming effect on the brute. But the rest of the Autobots hated it, as did Daniel's parents Spike and Carly. And Wheelie knew it.

So Wheelie did the only thing he knew to do, adapt and find a new way to become accepted. If he couldn't be accepted in the real world, he'd make one of his own. And that's exactly what the outcast mini-bot did, courtesy of the Ark's holographic simulation chamber, or HSC for short. It was a dark and gritty world with colorful characters, ranging from common thugs and thieves to the crazed preacher shouting about Doomsday to any and all who would listen. In the program Wheelie kept his nauseating orange color scheme, but altered his voice to a lower tone and he ditched the rhymes. One would wonder why he didn't choose to alter his speech patterns in the real world, but it was something he wasn't quite ready to do. Instead, he wanted to explore the changes in private, enjoying the freedom and the newness of it all. Surrounded by new locales and different, more unique versions of the beings he knew. In this place, in this wonderful and mysterious place, the shadows hid his loneliness. For here he was in charge, he was the central figure accepted and respected by all.

He was... a pimp.

And a pusher.

"What you need, Brother Grim?" Wheelie asked, already knowing the answer. Grimlock, er- _Brother Grim_, was one of his most loyal and constant customers. But Brother Grim didn't need help in getting fems. He came to do business with Wheelie's other service.

"Yo, what be it?" Brother Grim replied. Wheelie cringed at the backwards-speak and made a mental note to correct that aspect of the program. "Me need good stuff. Long night ahead, me need little boost."

"Check it out, check it out!" Wheelie smiled as he opened his arms out wide, allowing two rows of packages held by wires to unfold and touch the floor. "Check, check, checkity-check. I got your hook-up, big bot."

Brother Grim looked at the offerings, scanning them with his optics and deciphering their contents. "This joke?" he asked somewhat serious. "You breaking my bolts, Wheelie! Where is good stuff?"

"Oh, snap!" Wheelie mockingly acted as if he had forgotten the special item few customers were allowed to purchase. "Fresh out."

"Really?"

"No, I'm kidding. But you have to ask for it by name."

Brother Grim shook his head from side to side. "Me not like saying it. Me sound stupid! Just give it to me and we go separate ways."

"Say it!" Wheelie insisted. "Or I'll give it to Beachcomber."

"No," Grim sighed. "Prozac-bot always get good stuff and never share with me, Grim!" He looked to his left and then his right, just to ensure nobody could overhear. "Me say it."

"Well, go ahead! I don't have all day."

Brother Grim mumbled something, but it was too muffled to be understood. Wheelie stood patiently and with authority, his hands clinched into fists and resting on his waist. There was no way around it, Brother Grim needed a fix and the shakes were beginning to get noticeable. "Unichronic."

"What?"

"Unichronic!" Brother Grim repeated.

"I'm sorry," Wheelie said, taking pleasure in seeing such a mighty warrior near his breaking point. "What's that you say?"

Brother Grim fell to his knees and began bowing down at Wheelie's feet. "Unichronic... Unichronic... **me need the Unichronic!"**

"Oh," Wheelie smiled. He bent down and helped his dim-witted and much larger friend up off the ground. A very serious expression then came across Wheelie's face. "I'm out till Tuesday."

Brother Grim started laughing an odd mixture of relief and anticipation. "Thank you, thank you!" Once he had comprehended what Wheelie had said, the laughter stopped. A look of sadness and despair erupted on Grim's face. "What?"

"I said I'm out!" Wheelie yelled, startling the Dinobot to such an extent he took several steps backwards. "Now get you dumb-ass out of my face before I pop a cap in it!" He shoved Brother Grim away, and when his dejected customer finally relented and turned to leave, Wheelie gave him a swift kick on his backside for good measure.

He couldn't help but laugh as Brother Grim sulked away, no doubt wondering where he would he get his fix from now. But that was of no concern to Wheelie. For here, in this world, he was all that mattered. He was king and country.

From around the corner, he spotted Arcee making her way towards him. "Ah," he said happily, "Pink Pleasure has returned!" He started off to meet her halfway. "Glitch better have my money!"

The End.


	5. Brawn:What's In a Name?

**A Day In the Life of: Brawn**

He's short and stocky, both green and mean. He fancies himself to be the toughest bot you or I have ever seen. When the legendary Ark departed Cybertron on its doomed voyage that would end up crashing on Earth, he was chosen by Optimus Prime to join the hand-picked crew. To some he was a hero, always standing tall in the face of adversity and refusing to back down from much larger foes. To others, he was a braggart and a bully, suffering from what humans referred to as a Napoleon Complex. He had to act out and project a larger self-image than his physical form presented. He took pity on those weaker than himself, and often ridiculed them with verbal stings and contests of strength.

His name was Brawn, and he did all he could to live up to it.

* * *

_Autobot Rec Room..._

"Here, have a seat," Brawn said, kicking a chair out and in front of an unsuspecting Warpath. "Join me in a drink."

Warpath, obviously caught off guard, hesitantly took him up on the offer. "Really?" he asked as he sat down. "BANG! I thought you didn't like me."

"I don't," Brawn responded without even the slightest pause. "It's your lucky day." He raised his arm and snapped his fingers, gaining the attention of a nameless Powerdasher tending bar. "Bring us two more, high-grade!" he ordered. "And make sure they're warm!" He cast his optics towards his new drinking buddy. "I hate it when they're cold."

"Okay," Warpath replied. "So, what do you want to talk about?" Despite the friction between the two, the excited Autobot with the tank alt-mode secretly respected Brawn for all of his accomplishments throughout the years. "Mission reports? Future outings?"

Brawn made a slight grunting noise and tilted his head towards a nearby sitting station. "What do you see over there?" he asked, as his words became somewhat slurred.

"Where?"

"What do you mean, where?" Brawn snapped. "Over there!" He repeated the gesture with such passion it was almost comical.

Warpath grabbed his beverage from the nervous Powerdasher and took a drink. "You talking about Seaspray and Bumblebee?"

"Yeah," Brawn answered. "That's what I'm talking about. What do you see?"

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"You wanna know what I see?" Brawn took a mighty chug of his energon and waited for Warpath's reply. When one didn't come fast enough, he asked him again rather angrily. "Well, do ya?"

"Sure," Warpath sighed. Why the hell not?

"I see a pair of freaks!" Brawn announced, earning him some rather strange looks from fellow patrons. "What kind of stupid name is 'Bumblebee'?" Warpath squirmed in his seat, fearing things were about to get uncomfortable. "Might as well call himself 'Goldbug' or something else just as fem!" Another swig of his brew was followed by more commentary. "And what the hell does 'Seaspray' even mean?"

"Actually, I believe it describes-BLAM!-water breaking against the..." Feeling the cold, hard glare upon his form, Warpath decided to clam up. "Uh, I don't have the-WHAM!-foggiest idea."

"Names used to mean something around here, they carried with 'em respect and announced certain skills!" Brawn lectured. "Fer example, 'Cliffjumper'. Makes you think of jumping off cliffs, right? That's tough. That's bona-fide respectable. And 'Windcharger'? Inspirational! 'Trailbreaker'? Genuis. 'Omega Supreme'? By Primus, that's a name!"

Warpath wasn't sure if he should be amused or concerned. "So, your beef is with their names?"

Brawn, oblivious to his guest, continued his rant. "It's almost as if, one day, everybody decided to go down Wimp Avenue. You know what I mean? 'Beachcomber'? Give me a freakin' break. 'Powerglide'? Wait. That one's actually pretty tough. But 'Bumblebee'? 'Seaspray'? And what about 'Wheelie'? I've stepped in piles of slag tougher than him."

"You're drunk," Warpath calmly stated. "And apparently, you're one of those self-hating minibots, suffering from a-KAPOW!-undiagnosed case of name-envy."

"You trying to be smart with me?" Brawn asked. Before Warpath had an opportunity to respond, however, his intoxicated comrade kept on talking. "Because if you are, that's fine. Just fine. You got a good name. A name to be proud of. 'Warparth'. W-A-R-P-A-T-H." Brawn leaned back in his chair and dimmed his optics. Seconds after mumbling something about a certain 'Windbreaker', the large amount of energon consumed finally sent him into involuntary shut-down. Mercifully, he passed out.

"Wow," Warpath said as he got up and prepared to leave. "What an ass."

the end.

* * *

**Thank you to everyone who's been reading the story so far, I really appreciate hearing from all of you!**

**Upcoming: Hoist, Prowl and Wreck-Gar, Inferno and Red Alert...**


	6. Hoist and His Duty

**A Day In the Life Of: Hoist**

On most days, the Autobot known as Hoist was quite jovial and eager to help any and all in need. He was patient, caring, and a good listener when needed. Few took their job as seriously as he, and even fewer refused to let it go to their heads. He took great pride in his function as primary maintenance officer, but he did so in an inviting fashion that earned him tremendous respect. He was approachable for those who needed a shoulder to cry on, and he was dependable on the battlefield. Well-mannered and even-tempered, Hoist was the prime example of what an Autobot should be. However, even gentle-bots had their limits.

* * *

"Absolutely not!" Hoist roared, storming out of the room and away from duty chief Ironhide. "I'd rather develop an incurable case of cosmic rust!"

"You're not being fair about this," Ironhide responded as he followed close behind. "We all have our duties," he explained. "And this one just happens to be yours."

Hoist looked around and noticed several onlookers. He fought the urge to tell everyone to mind their own business, since such an outward burst of emotion could be interpreted as being rude. And of all the traits Hoist possessed, rudeness was one he wished to be rid of. He didn't, however, have any trouble _thinking_ of such a request. He steadied himself and spoke in a controlled tone. "Perhaps someone else wouldn't mind performing... the _duty_."

Ironhide couldn't really blame Hoist for not exactly jumping at the chance to fulfill his job. One would be hard-pressed to find a less-enticing task. The act was quite important to the Autobot cause, as it directly affected their ability to handle a Decepticon attack on their base. It was an evil, yet necessary duty. "You and I both know nobody is gonna do it for you," the aged veteran said. "Just suck it up and go do it before you really get on my nerves."

Hoist stared at Ironhide with an intensity rarely displayed, but after a brief passage of time, he relented. His posture became slacked and his tone announced his defeat. "Fine," he sighed. "I'll do it." He slowly turned around and headed off towards his dreaded destination. "If I don't make it back alive," he said, stopping as he was face to face with Ironhide, "I'll haunt you till the end of your days." And with that said, he exited the area.

Spike's hefty father and well-respected mechanic, Sparkplug, had witnessed the entire exchange. While nursing a cup of coffee, he approached the relieved Ironhide. "What was that all about?"

Ironhide smiled and let out a slight chuckle. "He's just mad about having to empty out Omega Supreme's waste collectors."

"Oh," Sparkplug replied after taking a sip of his favorite beverage. "That doesn't sound so bad. Why was Hoist throwing such a fit?"

"Actually," Ironhide admitted, "It's a rather dirty job."

"Really? How so?"

Ironhide paused for a moment, trying hard to think up a similar experience a human might identify with. "Well, it would be like you climbing into a 60-ton man's rectum and cleaning it out with a toothbrush." The stunned Sparkplug erupted in a mixture of laughter and disgust, sending coffee raining down not only on him, but on everything within a three foot range. Satisfied with his choice of words, Ironhide returned his attention to the duty sheet and began planning for the next shift.

**The End.**

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**A/N: Another short one, hope it's enjoyable! The next Chapter is being worked on now, but there's a poll on my Profile Page to see who you want in the chapter after next... Thanks for reading and if you've time, cast a vote!**


	7. Prowl and WreckGar

**A Day In the Life Of: Prowl and Wreck-Gar**

It was a peaceful day inside the Autobots headquarters. Optimus Prime was on an away-mission, so he placed Prowl in charge during his absence. Nothing out of the ordinary had happened for the first four days since Prime's departure. In fact, to more than a few of the Autobots who had remained behind, things were downright boring! But that's the way Prowl liked them, so that's the way he tried to keep them. Everything in its proper place and everyone doing their assigned duties. His was the way of details and logic, and he frowned upon erratic interruptions to the calmness he demanded. If there was an exact opposite to his way of life, it would be Wreck-Gar. The Junkion leader was a walking distraction and seemingly followed no set of rules for anything. He did as he saw fit, no matter how many regulations he may be breaking at the time. To many of the Autobots, Wreck-Gar represented a sense of freedom they could only dream of.

To Prowl, he was a headache.

* * *

An overly excited Blaster abruptly interrupted Prowl's peaceful silence. The primary communications officer was unusually worked up over something. "You better come quick, there's a situation in Control Room Seven!"

A curious expression came across Prowl's face-place. "A situation?" he asked calmly. He placed his special edition of The Art of War down atop his pristine desk, directly in-between a holographic picture of Cybertron and a science award given to him from a human college. "Explain."

"Wreck-Gar snuck into our Central Media Chamber and hooked himself up directly to the information portal!"

"I see," Prowl stated, moving flawlessly from his desk to his feet, and then directly in front of his teammate. "So what's the problem?"

Blaster slapped his forehead. "He's gone off the deep-end, man! He's fried!"

"Fried?" Prowl asked, somewhat unsure of what to make of Blaster's choice of words. "Does he require structural maintenance?"

"Tripping!" Blaster continued. "He's high! High as a kite in October!"

Prowl stood without the slightest hint of concern, forcing a flustered Blaster to rethink his vocabulary. "For Primus' Sake," he shouted, "He's... intoxicated!"

"I see," Prowl replied, finally becoming aware of what exactly was happening. "I'm on my way." He walked briskly past Blaster and headed off towards Wreck-Gar. Blaster watched as the acting commander left his sight, shaking his head and mumbling something about how a 'bot so smart could be so slow'.

* * *

When Prowl arrived at Control Room Seven, he immediately began scanning the area for damages. He was less than thrilled to locate five broken memory storage banks, three smashed transmitter consoles, and one half dozen laser-burns scattered randomly throughout the room. The enthralled audience of ten was quickly ordered out of the room, leaving only Prowl and the seemingly crazed Wreck-Gar within the same walls. "This is unacceptable behavior," Prowl stated sternly. "This is going on your record."

Wreck-Gar titled his head to one side. "You talking to me?" he asked with a slight New York accent. "You talking to me? Well, I'm the only one here. Who the frag do you think you're talking to? I don't see nobody else so you must be talking to me!"

"Are you experiencing visual distortions?" Prowl asked, puzzled as to how Wreck-Gar could be questioning he was being spoken to. Prowl was, after all, standing directly in front of him. "It so, after I declare the proper course of discipline, you may report to Ratchet for medical attention."

Wreck-Gar cast a rather unusual look at his superior officer. "My God," he sighed, his words thick with emotion. "It's full of stars."

"What?" Prowl asked. He turned his head left and right, but found nothing out of the ordinary. "What is full of stars? Wreck-Gar, can you even hear me?"

"Now you know!" the Junkion continued. "And knowing is half the battle! So ask not what your country can do for you, but what would you do.... for a Klondike Bar!"

Prowl shook his head, more than mildly annoyed at Wreck-Gar's peculiar behavior. "Security, report to my location immediately." He lowered his communicator and placed it back into its proper slot on his waist. "You need to detox, soldier. After you've come to your senses, we shall discuss this incident in detail."

"Obi-Wan never told you what happened to your father," Wreck-Gar spoke. From the other side of the room, two Autobot security officers emerged, fully armed and prepared for whatever may come. They approached their target quickly, restraining him in a matter of moments and with little force. They departed as fast as they had arrived.

"I'm very disappointed in you Wreck-Gar," Prowl said sternly, watching the three warriors leave the room.

"Wreck-Gar?" the Junkion commander shouted as he was being led away, "I'm Rick James, bitch!"

**the end.**

* * *

**A/N: The Next Character to be featured in "A Day in the Life Of" is up to you! Just click on my profile and vote for your choice!! Thanks for all the wonderful feedback this little story has gotten; I appreciate all of you very much!**


	8. Hound in Payback's a Glitch

**A Day In the Life of Hound** _(With special guests **Red Alert** and **Inferno**)_

Exiting the theatre through a specially designed doorway, the trio of Autobots started discussing the film they had just finished watching. It was a cool and crisp evening, so they decided that instead of returning to the Ark right away, they'd stroll around on the outskirts of town. "Rambo Zombie!" Inferno exclaimed, before lowering his voice and finishing with, "Back from the dead and on a mission!"

"He's always on a mission," Hound stated, less than impressed with what they had just seen.

"True," Inferno replied. "But this time, he came back... from the dead!"

Red Alert felt a tingle in his circuits. "I, for one, am glad it's over. Making a mockery out of something as unfunny as death is not entertainment."

"Come on, Red!" Inferno joked. "It's just a movie."

"He's got a point," Hound added, siding with his oft-paranoid friend. "It was pretty tasteless. Kind of creepy, too."

Inferno erupted in laughter. "You two are the biggest babies I've ever known!" The large Autobot with a firetruck alt-mode roared loudly. "You guys are priceless!"

Hound stopped and turned to face his heckler. "Okay, Inferno, that's enough. You're bordering on being obnoxious."

"You're too stupid to know better," Red Alert shouted, taking his place beside Hound. "It isn't proper to have such a juvenile respect of death."

Inferno slapped his left palm against his forehead. "First of all, you two glitches need to lighten up. And secondly, maybe you should both try 'growing a pair'." He smiled after finally finding a way to work his favorite human saying into a conversation.

The simple spat started to take on a more violent sense. "You aren't as big and bad as you'd like everyone to believe," Red Alert stated.

"I'm tougher than you!" Inferno shouted, getting directly in front of his longtime running mate.

"Okay, okay," Hound said in an attempt to play peace-maker. "Let's put the ball bearings away and play nice."

Inferno and Red Alert stared at each other intently, and for a moment Hound feared the two friends would actually trade blows. Cooler heads prevailed, however, and Inferno cracked a smile as he extended his hand in friendship. "Hound's right," he said while meeting Red Alert in a handshake. "No hard feelings?"

"Okay," Red answered.

The three Autobots continued on their walk, with an enjoyable silence for several minutes. But the temptation to once again taunt Red Alert became too great for Inferno to resist, so he broke the quiet with a simple question. "Tell me, Red," he began, "Do you still recharge with a nightlight on?"

Before Red Alert could respond, Hound placed his hand on his shoulder and calmed him down. He gave the frustrated security chief a mischievous look, and quietly told him to let it slide. "We'll get him," he proclaimed softly. They exchanged sly grins as Inferno's hearty laughter filled the night time air.

* * *

Ten minutes later, while the night grew darker and the breeze blew colder, Hound put his plan for revenge in gear. He manually set his incoming transmission sensor to sound off, acting casual while he pretended his way through a priority message. The performance was flawless, forcing him to sneak a quick thumbs-up to a concerned Red Alert. Red smiled and played along. "That's most disturbing," Hound muttered with a heavy dose of drama pulsing through his words.

"What?" Red Alert asked, matching the suspenseful tone perfectly.

"That was Jazz," Hound stated. "It seems a Lavanoid has been detected in the area. Quite near our location, actually."

Inferno stopped suddenly and addressed Hound. "Did you say a Lavanoid?" The usually confidant search-and-rescue warrior appeared to have concern in his tone. "Here? On Earth?"

"Here," Hound asnwered. "As in, right here." He extended both arms out and made a sweeping motion.

Lavanoids were ferocious creatures that had an insane hatred for all things red in color. They were known to emerge from the shadows and strike with such ferocity, their victim had no choice but to die horribly in their grasp. Fire would shoot out from their eyes and burn through whatever stood before them. Their hands would melt whatever they came into contact with, due to the immense heat emanating from within their bodies.

While Inferno realized that Red Alert would also have cause for concern, since he had the color red on his body as well, the Lavanoid would single Inferno out first due to red being his primary color.

The creatures had an unmistakable stench to them, a thousand times more offensive than sulfer. When they walked, the heat coming off their feet would melt where they were stepping, resulting in a disgusting slurping sound as the raised their feet to take another step. "What does Jazz know, anyway?" Inferno barked, trying to shake off his nerves and put on a brave face.

Off in the distance, a rain soaked ground gave way and a small tree crashed to the earth. "What was that?" Inferno asked frantically. With the intended victim more than spooked, Hound switched on his holographic projector and went to work. He created an eerily familiar smell, followed by a series of suction-popping footsteps. Inferno's optics grew wide, his body trembling from fear. Suddenly, literally appearing out of nowhere, a Lavanoid lept in front of Inferno in all of its repulsive glory. The big red Autobot screamed in terror and ran away as fast as he could, too traumatized to even transform into his vehicle mode.

Red Alert and Hound released a mighty laughter, doubling over and slapping each other on the back. Inferno was nowhere to be found, so Hound switched off his projector and the Lavanoid disappeared. "Priceless," Hound muttered inbetween bursts of laughter. "I didn't know the big guy could run that fast!"

Red Alert nodded in agreement. "Where do you figure he ran to?"

Hound looked down at where Inferno had been standing only moments earlier. "I'm not sure, but I bet we can find out."

"By using your advanced scouting skills?" Red Alert asked.

"Maybe," Hound smiled. "Or we could just follow the coolant he leaked and trail him that way!"

the end.


	9. Wheeljack and Grimlock: Does Not Compute

**A Day in the Life Of: Wheeljack and Grimlock**

**Does Not Compute**

All Wheeljack wanted was some peace and quiet. Time for himself, away from the chaos that existed outside his doors, and time to devote to his inventions. Inventions, he proudly thought to himself, that could one day lead the Autobots to total victory over the evil Decepticons, and finally put an end to their war. Lofty aspirations for certain, but he refused to think it impossible.

Today, however, his agenda was more simple and attainable; namely because he wasn't working on anything in particular. He was, in a word, tinkering. And Wheeljack could tinker with the best of them. If only his blasted communications console would quit its constant beeping. He figured if he ignored the annoying intrusion long enough, it would stop. After five long minutes and nearly one hundred high-pitched beeps, he accepted the fact he had figured wrong.

"What is it?" he angrily shouted into the rectangle shaped voice box.

"Me need help," came the reply.

Wheeljack sighed, knowing it had to be one of the Dinobots by the speech pattern used. "Who is this?"

A short pause followed. "Who this?" the other voice demanded.

The mad scientist of the Autobot ranks slapped his forehead. "Primus," he grumbled. "Is that you, Grimlock?"

Another short pause. "How you know it me, Grimlock?"

"Lucky guess," Wheeljack answered, his tone softening ever so slightly.

"You know computer Spike give me for present?"

Wheeljack propped himself up against the wall and leaned into it. "Yes. What about it?"

"The one with the buttons?"

"Yes, Grimlock. What's wrong with it?"

"The one with the TV?"

Wheeljack dimmed his optics. "Yes."

"The blue one?"

Wheeljack's voice grew louder. "Yes, Grimlock! By all that is holy and pure, I know the computer you're talking about! Now, what's the problem?"

"Maybe this bad time," Grimlock replied, his voice somewhat hesitant. There was no doubt that his feeling had been hurt by the sudden outburst.

"No, no," Wheeljack quickly said. "It's okay." He hated losing his temper with any of the Dinobots, but especially with Grimlock. They had a sort of father-son bond that was rare and something to be treasured, and it was a relationship Wheeljack was proud to maintain. "I'm sorry for yelling, please go ahead."

"It not working," Grimlock informed his friend. "Me try to play game on computer, but it not work. Me, Grimlock, need help to fix it."

Well, that didn't sound too hard, Wheeljack reasoned. "At the top of your screen, there should be an icon. Click on it and that should load your game."

"What?"

"Move the mouse over to the tiny picture and click on it."

"Me not understand what you mean. Me not have mouse, me have computer."

Wheeljack shook his head and let out a sigh, but managed to remain calm. "Do you see a picture on the screen?"

"Yes."

"Click on it."

"On what?"

"The picture."

"Okay." A few moments of silence passed, leading Wheeljack to think perhaps the problem had been resolved. "Nothing happening," Grimlock stated, ending all hope for Wheeljack.

It was a brand new computer, equipped with all the bells and whistles it could contain. Spike had overheard Grimlock complaining of being bored with little Decepticon activity in recent weeks, and thought a computer to play games on would make for a nice distraction. Besides, Chip Chase hooked him up and it was practically free. 'Robotic Monkeys From Atlantis 2: Ice and Poo' was ripe for exploration. "There should be a picture of a robot monkey in one of the corners on the screen. Do you see it?" Wheeljack asked.

"Only picture me see is of me, Grimlock!"

_For Alpha Trion's Sake! _Wheeljack knew the Dinobots could be slow at times, and usually it was rather humorous, but this was taking it to a whole new level. "Grimlock, is the picture you're seeing your reflection?"

Not surprisingly, there was yet another short pause before the dreaded answer came. "Yes."

"Grimlock, you genius, is your computer even turned on?"

"What type of moron you take me for?" the Dinobot commander shot back promptly. "Me not ride short-shuttle at academy! Yes, it's on. Me push button on tower. Nothing happen."

That was rather peculiar. Wheeljack, the great engineer, was momentarily at a loss. He racked his logic center for a possible explanation until suddenly, one came to mind. "Grimlock, can you see the power cord?"

"Yes," he answered quickly. "It's on the floor."

"Is it plugged into the wall?"

"Plugged ..._into the wall_?" Grimlock glanced down and lowered his head at his discovery. "No."

the end.


	10. Ironhide and Kup

**A Day In the Life Of: Kup and Ironhide**

**Malfunction at the Junction**

"Hey Kup, can I talk to you for a minute?" Ironhide spoke softy, unusual for one with such a commanding voice. "It's sort of personal."

Kup peered over the top of the research papers in his hands and found Ironhide staring at him, with sincere and almost pitiful optics. "Sure," he answered after checking his chronometer. "I've got a little time before my shift starts." He placed his reading material down in front of him and motioned for Ironhide to join him at his table. "Take a seat, old-timer."

Ironhide laced his fingers together and rested his hands on the table, outstretched and nervously twitching. He looked to his sides and then behind him to ensure their conversation would remain private. The Lounge was unusually empty this evening, which made Ironhide feel somewhat more at ease.

"You got a short in your circuits?" Kup joked, trying to ease whatever troubles were on his friend's mind. "What's bugging ya?"

"I ain't exactly sure how to say this," Ironhide confessed. "I've been having a little trouble with something," he stated, "Something of a private nature. With Chromia coming in for a visit, I'd sort of thought..."

Kup fought back the urge to smile and stopped his friend in mid-sentence. "Hold it right there," he demanded. He knew exactly what Ironhide was talking about, but was somewhat caught off guard by his seeking him out. "What makes you think I know anything about..."

"You're older than me," Ironhide replied innocently. "I just assumed." He noticed Kup shifting in his seat, his position revealing a sudden sensation of surprise and perhaps a slight tinge of embarrassment. "I mean, I thought you could identify with what I'm going through."

"Well, you thought wrong!" Kup snapped. "And besides, I'm fine! My plumbing works just as good as it did when I first came online."

Ironhide leaned back and took a long, hard look at his fellow elder statesman. "Kind of testy, ain't ya? You in denial or something?"

Kup started to leave. "I don't have time for this."

"No, wait!" Ironhide pleaded. "I'm sorry. Please, if you know of anything that might help, I'd greatly appreciate it." His tone was quite sincere.

After an awkward moment of silence, Kup decided to stay and help his friend. "Okay," he growled. He scribbled down something on the back of a discarded duty-roster sheet that was resting on the empty table to their left, and handed it to Ironhide with all the secrecy of young school children passing notes in class. "Go to the address on that piece of paper and ask for the specified item I jotted down."

"It'll work?" Ironhide asked skeptically while concealing the message in his closed fist.

"Yes."

"It'll get the lead out?"

"Yes."

"Give me back my stiff upper lip?"

"What?"

"Help me reach new heights?"

"Will you shut up and just leave already?"

* * *

_**A short time later-**_

Ironhide should have expected it. He had ruffled Kup's feathers and bruised his geriatric ego. Still, he took his friends advice without consideration or hesitation, so the blame was squarely on his own shoulders. What really bothered him is the fact he didn't catch on sooner.

For you see, it wasn't until after he had traveled to Larry's Outlet Store and stood in line for a solid twenty minutes while the _'Cashier Needs Assistance'_ light flashed off and on. Not until he noticed the clerk's strange look prior to calling out for a price check, an act which resulted in each and every pair of eyes zooming in on his location. "I need a price check for an Erector Set, please. Price check on an Erector Set, the Deluxe Edition. Aisle six."

Only then did he realize he had been setup, and he swore he could hear Kup laughing all the way back inside the Ark.

**The End.**


	11. Astrotrain and Blitzwing

**A Day In The Life Of: Astrotrain and Blitzwing**

**Sticks and Stones**

"What is that book you're reading?" Astrotrain asked Blitzwing as they prepared for the drills taking place later in the day. "It looks like the one I noticed Rumble reading yesterday."

Blitzwing kept his optics on the book. "It is."

"Seems to be a popular selection," Astrotrain replied. "So what the frag is it about?"

"Human slang and other important words and phrases."

"Lame."

Blitzwing sighed. "Not really," he said, carefully inserting a bookmark to keep his place until further reading could be possible. "It's quite interesting, in a sort of primitive way. Some of the words they use have very unique meanings." He was sounding more and more like a professor with each word uttered. "And some of the phrases they use have absolutely no relation to what is literally being described."

Astrotrain checked his chronometer, making sure they had plenty of time to finish getting ready. "Like what?"

Blitzwing flipped back and forth between several pages, trying hard to find some of the more visual examples. "Bite me."

"Excuse me?"

"Bite me."

Astrotrain was slightly confused. "Why do you want me to bite you?"

"I don't," Blitzwing answered. "That means it's too bad if you don't like me, deal with it." He turned back a couple of pages and offered up another example. "Step off."

"Step off what? You're not making any sense!"

"Step off," Blitzwing continued, "Means to back down; to cease aggressive posturing." Just before closing the book, his optics caught one last phrase he felt should be shared. "Bling-Bling."

"I'm sorry?"

"It says that in certain circles of society, the phrase 'bling-bling' is used when showcasing one's material worth, usually in the form of jewelry and jewelry adorned items. Ones 'pimp cup' is listed as an example of said worth."

Astrotrain had heard enough. He wasn't sure where his friend's sudden infatuation with human terminology came from, but he no longer wished to hear about it. He knocked the book out of Blitzwing's hand and motioned towards the exit. "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

* * *

The three Triple-Changers lined up in formation and awaited Shockwave's evalution. For the past two hours, this trio of terror had been participating in the latest round of militaristic drills. The exercises were designed to help improve every facet of combat, with drills ranging from long-distance sharpshooting, to barbaric hand-to-hand combat.

Shockwave paced back and forth for several minutes, an act that served a dual purpose. One, it allowed his internal processor adequate time to formulate an accurate evaluation; and two, it caused anxiety in those being judged. He finally halted his movement and stood directly in front of Octane. He spewed forth the standard rhetoric that each Decepticon partaking in these evaluations had heard hundreds of times before. Octane, to his credit, stood there and at least appeared to be listening. He was a late addition to the Triple-Changers unit, and so he was viewed as somewhat of an outsider. It didn't really bother him that the other two had little to do with him; he didn't care much for them either.

It was more of the same when Shockwave stepped to his left and addressed Blitzwing. The words all ran together, making little sense; Shockwave's hypnotic way of speaking didn't help matters much. It was boring. It was beyond boring. It was like being an Autobot.

After he finally finished with Blitzwing, he stepped in front of Astrotrain. There was an awkward silence lasting several uncomfortable seconds. Octane and Blitzwing tried hard not to stare in Shockwave's direction, for fear of a reprimand, but their curiosity was stronger than their will. Octane nudged Blitzwing slyly in a silent attempt to get his impression of Shockwave's odd behaviour. Ever the good soldier, Blitzwing did not indulge him.

"Your performance was sub-standard," Shockwave informed Astrotrain, much to his surprise. Maybe his results weren't perfect. Maybe he was a little off his game today, but sub-standard? That seemed a bit much. "Reaction time was 2.1 percent slower than your last evaluation. Target results down by 3.9 percent. Hand-to-hand combat was unimpressive. Overall score: Unacceptable."

As Octane attempted to suppress his laughter, Blitzwing continued to remain at attention and silent. He was in line for a promotion to Commander, and he wasn't going to give Shockwave, or anyone else for that matter, any ammunition to shoot his promotion down. Astrotrain, however, did not remain silent.

"Now just a minute," he quickly objected. "I don't think..."

"Personal opinion-irrelevant," Shockwave interrupted. "You are being put on notice. At the next evaluation, you will be expected to show much improvement in every task. Dismissed."

Shockwave turned his back on the threesome and began to depart. "Hold on a slaggin' minute, one-eye!" Astrotrain was extremely displeased and wished to voice his frustration. Shockwave, however, realizing nothing that could be said would change the outcome of his results, ignored the outburst and opted not to waste any further energy on a pointless discussion. Octane, free of having to control himself, erupted in laughter. He could be heard even after exiting the room, turning the corner, and heading down the eastern corridor. Astrotrain looked angrily at Blitzwing, then stormed out and headed to his quarters.

* * *

Astrotrain stormed into his personal quarters and sealed the door behind him. He kicked ouver a pile of data disks that were taking up space on his floor and crunched several of them underneath his feet. It had been a long time since he had been this angry; so long, in fact, that he was having trouble remembering exactly when it was. "The nerve of that one-eyed freak!" he growled to himself. "Who in the Pit does he think he is? Talking to me like that?" He threw a hard punch against a wall, resulting in a respectable dent. "Me!"

The sound of his door reopening earned his attention, where he found Blitzwing waltzing in with a smile on his face. "That was classic," he said, almost laughing as he said it. "You, my friend, are incredible."

"I'm not in the mood for attitude," Astrotrain warned as he stood looking out his porthole and gazing down onto the area below his room. It was there that Shockwave, the most logical of all Decepticons, had reprimanded him for his less than stellar performance. "He was way out of line today," he continued. "Talking to me as if I were a rookie straight out of combat academy. Embarrassing me in front of Octane and whoever else was within listening distance was uncalled for!"

"That's what he does," Blitzwing stated, trying to calm his friend down. "As the fleshbags would say, that's why he gets paid the big bucks."

"We don't get paid," Astrotrain retorted.

"Right," Blitzwing agreed. He quickly flipped through a few pages, looking for something he'd come across earlier. "The humans have another saying that fits."

Astrotrain turned to face his comrade. "And what would that be?"

"Hold on a minute, let me look," Blitzwing answered. He continued to turn page after page, his optics scanning as fast as they could. "Ah, here it is," he shouted. "They'd say he was being an 'asshole'..."

end


	12. Starscream: The Price of Being Talented

**The Price of Being Talented**

"I should kill you right where you stand for wasting my time!" Starscream was utterly unimpressed by newcomer Ramjet's performance on his evaluation process. "Mediocre- in every category! And you honestly thought you had what it takes to join my Seeker Squadron?"

The dejected Ramjet stood, defeated and deflated, not knowing what to say.

"Answer me!" Starscream roared.

Ramjet struggled to reply. "Yes! I mean, no..."

"Shut up!" Starscream cast a disgusted look down at his temporary assistant Rumble and dismissed the rookie flyer. "Get out of my sight!" Ramjet sulked away while another hopeful approached the ill-tempered Air Commander. "State your name."

"Razor."

Starscream seemed completely uninterested. "You know the procedure. Ten minutes, various tasks. Begin when ready." He stepped forward and stood directly in front of the new participant. "Don't make me regret giving you this opportunity of a lifetime."

Razor offered a confident grin and headed out to begin the drills. Rumble made a couple of notes on his data-pad. "You always so jolly to the recruits?"

"You are hear to assist, not to ask questions."

Rumble felt like punching his larger comrade, but opted against it. "No wonder Thundercracker and Skywarp quit helping you do evaluations. You're freakin' Mr. Personality, you know that?"

Starscream and Rumble observed the impressive Razor put on a near flawless performance. His results rivaled those of Starscream himself, easily placing him in the top one percent of applicants. And the strong newcomer knew he had nailed it. "So, how'd I do?" Razor asked proudly.

Rumble handed the checklist up to Starscream for examination, but it wasn't necessary. Starscream had seen all he had needed to see with his own optics; time-trial results and target-hit ratios were of no use to him.

"Most impressive," Starscream dryly answered.

"So am I in? Do I get the slot?"

A sly grin came across Starscream's face. "You're going to get it, no question about that." Razor turned to walk away, proud of his performance and contemplating his new future among the Decepticon's finest. His only concern now was deciding who to tell the good news to first. Starscream raised his null-ray and fired a blast aimed directly at the back of Razor's head. The blow killed him instantly.

"Sweet hell!" Rumble shouted, somewhat panicked and quite annoyed by being caught off guard. "What did you do that for? That flybot was great!"

"You have a lot to learn about how things work in the Decepticon ranks," Starscream coldly stated.

It was as though a light bulb suddenly went off over Rumble's head. "Oh," he spoke slowly. "He was _too_ good, right? Right? I get it!" He looked down at the fallen form of Razor and couldn't help but chuckle a little. "But what about the open slot? Megatron won't exactly be happy you're still a member short."

"Contact Ramjet," Starscream explained calmly. "Tell him after further consideration, I have opted to allow him to join the Seeker Squadron." His optics grew brighter than usual. "In fact, tell him he's just the sort of 'con I'm looking for."

end.


	13. My Brother's Keeper

**A Day In the Life Of: Wheeljack and Gears**

**My Brother's Keeper**

Wheeljack looked over the damage caused by the Dinobots and sighed. "Those behemoths are going to be the death of me!" By his side was the emotionally challenged Gears, at the same time both a brilliant engineer in his own right and an obnoxious cancer on the positivity of others.

"_You_ built them," Gears stated bluntly.

"I know," Wheeljack responded. This time, a friendly brawl between Slag and Snarl had completely wrecked two shuttle crafts and the containment walls surrounding them. "But you know what really bothers me?"

"Don't care," Gears grumbled.

"When Ratchet needs help in Medical, who helps him out? **I**do." Wheeljack estimated the damage would require at least ten days to fully repair if left up only to him. "When Perceptor has an explosion in his lab, who does he call for help?"

"Hold on, hold on," Gears answered sarcastically before snapping his fingers in jest. "Oh yeah. Still don't care."

Wheeljack bent over and scooped up what appeared to be the remnants of a shuttle's gravity stabilizer. "**Me**!" he shouted. "They all come to me for help, and me being the sucker I am, I give it to them. But where are they when I need help? Where are they when the mess that needs cleaning up is _mine_?

"You still talking to me?" Gears asked.

"Don't you think it's unfair?"

"Seriously. You're still talking?"

Wheeljack placed the debris he had gathered in the far corner of the room. "Shouldn't all Autobots strive to help one another? Isn't that what being an Autobot is all about?"

Gears shrugged. "Sure, I guess."

"I'm glad you agree," Wheeljack remarked happily. He walked over and placed his arm around his diminutive comrade. "Well, come on. We have quite the mess to pick up!"

Gears shot a bemused look at Wheeljack, then stepped out from the embrace. "**We**?" he asked with more than a slight trace of irritation. "You got a Gobot in your pocket or something?"

Wheeljack was legitimately hurt by the comment. "But I thought you agreed with me! You mean you aren't going to help me out?"

"_**Slag no!**_" Gears quipped. "I'm due for a hot oil bath." He shot a half-hearted salute at his fellow Autobot and started making his way out. "You're on your own, _Captain Caveman_."

**end.**


	14. Prime Told Me There'd Be Days Like This

**A Day in the Life Of: Ironhide**

**Prime Told Me There'd Be Days Like This**

War is a devilish beast that claims countless lives. From time to time the opportunity arises for brave and worthy warriors to join the Autobot ranks, in an attempt to bolster their roster depth and replace those that had fallen. While it is rare that an entire squad will be accepted, sometimes each candidate surpasses expectations and they're welcomed into the faction with open arms. Other times… most of the time… it goes a little something like this…

The small unit of Autobot hopefuls stood at attention as Ironhide, head of Autobot security, began his interrogation. "According to my notes, you've completed over 1000 deep-space missions."

"That's correct," the short and stocky one answered.

"A master of five combat techniques and a sharp-shooter… fluent in over fifty galactic languages… and a warfare historian."

The bot smiled proudly. "I'm a pretty decent mechanic, too."

Ironhide silently wondered how Wheeljack and Hoist would feel about having a new threat to their positions and cracked a smile. Between the two of them, Wheeljack and Hoist were basically responsible for keeping everything running smoothly, from the Ark and its sub-ships to the Autobots themselves. But it seemed that for every success the duo enjoyed, they were responsible for twice as many incidents. Incidents often involving large explosions, vast fires, and rampaging experiments causing havoc on whatever lay in its path. Adding a third member to the dangerous duo didn't seem like a smart move. The smile faded away. "I don't see your alt-mode listed," he stated.

Discomfort overtook the bot. "Must've forgotten to put it down," he muttered.

"It's okay. Go ahead and transform and I'll mark it off."

The bot didn't budge.

"Something wrong with your hearing, Knock-Off?" Ironhide lowered his data pad and began to invade the youngster's personal space. "You _can_ transform, can't you?"

"Funny thing about that…"

"Yes or no?" Ironhide asked angrily.

Knock-Off could feel the other Autobot wannabes staring at him. "Yes, but…"

"Then do it! Now!"

Knock-Off considered simply walking away, but he knew this was a once in a lifetime chance. So he pushed back his apprehension and transformed into a rather unimpressive cargo vehicle. "There," Ironhide said," Was that so hard? Now go ahead and change back."

Not wanting to anger the old war-horse any more than he already had, Knock-Off complied almost immediately. Strange sounds accompanied his transformation, punctuated with a series of short pops. Ironhide tried to ignore the odd noises while adding data into his report, and for a few moments was able to play it off like he hadn't heard anything out of the ordinary. Then a loud bang, resulting from metal crashing down atop metal, shook his cool. "What the slag was that?" His optics located the cause of the disturbance but he had a hard time believing what he was seeing.

"That would be my left arm," Knock-Off answered meekly.

Another bang followed, slightly louder than the first. "And that would be the right one."

Ironhide simply shook his head in disbelief and approached the next bot in line. For some reason or another the crusty war dog hadn't realized it was in fact one of the Autobot twins, Sunstreaker. Sort of.

"Ha, ha. Very funny Sunstreaker," he chuckled as the mech in front of him displayed confusion across his face. The security chief caught a glimpse of three teal-blue arrow decals spread across each arm. "Kind of an odd choice for adornments," Ironhide stated matter-of-factly.

"Sir?" replied the still unsure recruit.

Hearing such a formal response was too much for Ironhide, sending him into a burst of laughter. "Sir?" he repeated playfully. "You're too much!" At that moment the entrance door slid open from behind them and in walked a familiar face.

"Prime wants to know how the assessment is going." It was Sunstreaker.

"Tell him," Ironhide began, swinging around to face his guest and quickly snapped silent. "Sunstreaker?"

"Last time I checked," he joked.

"But I thought…" Ironhide swung back around at who he had assumed was a mischievous Sunstreaker. "Who in the name of Primus are you?"

"Bootleg," he answered proudly.

"Of course you are," Ironhide growled. He looked over towards Knock-Off, standing absolutely motionless from a combination of fear and not wanting any more limbs to fall off, then back again to Bootleg. He sidestepped two paces and peered at the third recruit. "And you are?"

"Peg-Warmer," the female mech answered in a hushed tone.

"And you want to join the Autobots because?"

Cue the violin. "Because I'm tired of being passed over… ignored… left behind while others embark on grand adventures and life-altering escapades." Peg-Warmer's voice cracked with emotion as a small trickle of fluid escaped from her optics. "I want to belong."

Ironhide looked her over. "You're bright orange with brown stripes down your torso," he commented.

"Don't hate."

Ironhide shook his head. "This has to be a joke," he reasoned. "Am I being Punk'd?" One more bot remained to be spoken with. Always the loyal soldier, he ignored his urge to leave and finished up. "State your name."

"Short-Bus."

"Alt-mode?"

"Short-Bus."

"And what makes you think you're Autobot material?"

"Short-Bus."

Ironhide let go of his data pad, allowing it to fall to the ground. He turned and began to exit the room, briskly walking past the _real_ Sunstreaker. "Wait," Sunstreaker shouted, quickening his steps in order to match Ironhide's. "What do you want me to tell Prime?" No answer. "Ironhide!" he yelled again. "Where are you going?"

Ironhide continued walking, never bothering to turn around as he answered. "I'm going to see if the Guardians need a new Security Chief."

End.

* * *

_**A/N: For those unaware, the Guardians mentioned above are the heroic faction in Gobots...** _


	15. Failure to Communicate!

**Failure to Communicate!**

According to Time Warrior, the self-aware and floating Autobot insignia that also just happens to be an expert on multiple dimensions, time travel, and various parallel universe, there is an Autobot Prowl for all occasions.

There is the noble and heroic Prowl of the Animated variety, complete with badass ninja skills and sweet motorcycle alt-mode. The Prowl with twin brothers Sideburn and X-Brawn that take orders from an Optimus Prime that moonlights as a fire engine and hangs out with a young boy named Koji. And one Prowl just so happened to take part in the Beast Wars... not a major part, mind you, but he was definitely involved. Sorta.

It's complicated.

But the Prowl in today's story is the original. The Generation One Autobot that was among the doomed crew of The Ark's mission which ultimately landed them on Earth. Famed military strategist that moonlights as a police vehicle. A being devoted to all things practical and logical.

All beings great and small, human and otherwise, have a weakness that stalks them throughout their days. And Prowl's weakness, his Achilles heel actually, pertains to beings affected by insanity, either actual or perceived. There is no room for chaos in Prowl's black and white world of action and reaction. And nobody personifies insanity within the Autobot ranks at this time more than Wreck-Gar, leader of the Junkions and user of a most unique dialect. Wreck-Gar is the master of TV-speak, and he drives Prowl crazy with it.

* * *

In the central meeting room, Prowl paced back and forth in front of his involuntary audience and concluded his mission briefing. With hands clasped firmly behind his back, his optics looked out at his companions and awaited feedback. "Any questions? Everyone understand the plan and their role in it?"

"Yeah," Cliffjumper answered.

"No problem," Powerglide added. "We're good."

And then it was as though a thick and suffocating blanket of anxiety wrapped Prowl tightly in its grasp. A slight trickle of coolant escaped from a previously undetected crack above his left optic; had he been human, he'd have been sweating like a pig. "What about you, Wreck-Gar?" he asked like an Autobot already defeated. "Any questions?"

Wreck-Gar placed his hands behind his head and cocked it to the left. "You talking to me?" He cast a look at Cliffjumper and Powerglide, smiled like the boy who found a stash of Christmas gifts a week before Christmas, and continued. "I don't see anybody else so you must be talking to me!"

"And so it begins," Cliffjumper stated, leaning in so that only Powerglide could hear his remark.

"Yes," Prowl stated, trying hard to keep his composure. "I am most definitely talking to you… directly and solely to you." He paused briefly. " Now, are there any concerns…"

"I hear you knocking, but you can't come in."

"Excuse me?"

Wreck-Gar leaped forward in his seat and stared deep into Prowl's confused optics. "I have been… and always shall be… your friend."

"What in the world are you talking about?" Prowl had already lost the battle. It remained to be seen whether or not he'd lose the war. But the Junkion simply sat there, looking up with a blank expression and remaining silent. "Wreck-Gar?" Prowl said in an unusually loud tone. "Wreck-Gar!"

"Now that's a name I haven't heard in a long… long time."

"Empire?" Powerglide asked discreetly.

"New Hope," Cliffjumper answered quietly.

"For Primus' Sake, Wreck-Gar! Do you understand the mission or not?"

"Affirmative, good buddy."

"Oh," Prowl said with a heavy dose of surprise coloring the word. He had not been expecting the insanity to subside so quickly. Perhaps he wouldn't lose this battle after all. "Well okay then." A smile actually appeared across his faceplate. "Now, I've been informed by Optimus Prime that your departure will be moved forward by…" Prowl's respite was short-lived as he suddenly found himself staring at Wreck-Gar's behind. "What are you doing?"

"Greetings, Starfighter! You have been recruited by the Star League…"

"WRECK-GAR!" Prowl shouted, sending the crazed mech falling butt-over-head and onto the floor. "What is your malfunction? You can be such a nuisance! Get out of my sight before your crazy speak and juvenile actions reduces us all to one big pile of stupid!"

Wreck-Gar didn't skip a beat. "And I'll form the head!"

"Voltron?" Powerglide asked.

"Voltron." Cliffjumper answered.

Prowl took one last look at his tormentor and left the room a defeated soul. Powerglide held his laughter in check until Prowl was no longer in hearing range. Cliffjumper wasn't as considerate and instead erupted before Prowl had even turned his back. "Not that I didn't find that wholly entertaining," Cliffjumper said pausing between chuckles, "But what's the deal? I mean, you don't always talk so… uniquely. Half the time you sound almost normal. Why do you always seem to kick it up a notch when dealing with Prowl?"

Wreck-Gar cocked his head to the left and smiled. "It's a pirate's life for me… savvy?"

**the end.**

* * *

**a/n: thanks to starfire for alerting me to my Prowl/Silverbolt mistake... I've reworked that part so I don't look like an idiot anymore! At least temporarily...**


End file.
